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To
Meet Your Sky
With
you, there is neither
a
choice nor any kind of
resistance;
my body is
at
once nothing and
everything
you can possibly
take.
I watch from the table
as
you carry emptied glasses
into
the kitchen – they slash
sunlight
into ribbons, gleam
like
so many knives in a sink.
Roughly,
you turn on the tap
to
wash your hands, then
approach
like a shadow
lengthening
across the floor,
eyes
shiny as blades, your
body
closing in. Pausing to
hover,
you lift my chin like
the
lid of a music box, as arms
once
mine take off to meet your sky.
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--------Cyril
Wong
- Singapore
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The
Point Of Arrival
During
our first few dates, we
scribbled
our confessions on paper,
sending
them like fast-forward
letters
back and forth across the table.
Then
you relented and taught me sign-
language,
demonstrating how “like”
is
the drawing forth of an invisible
string
from the centre of your chest
like
a loosened thread, freed from
the
constraining fabric of your body,
while
“love” is the crossing of
both
arms in an act of self-defence
and
a warning, or simply that “X”
which
marks the point of arrival
upon
the very treasure map of you.
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| Cyril Wong is
the author of four
collections of poetry in Singapore. Internationally,
his poems have appeared in Atlanta
Review,
Fulcrum, Cider Press
Review and Asheville Poetry
Review. He has been
nominated three times for the Pushcart
Prize. He was a featured poet at the Edinburgh International Book
Festival and the Hong Kong International Literary Festival;
and
is the founder of Softblow,
an international
poetry journal online. For
more information see: cyrilwong.com |
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